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Max takes in a shaky breath. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I should’ve sat Boucher down for a talk a long time ago.”
“It’s not your fault.” I shake my head, which brings into view how the entire Bolts team watches like hawks. “And you know, I shouldn’t have fanned the flames so much every time I had a chance.”
A corner of his lips rises in a mirthless smile. “You mean if we play with matches, we get burned?”
I know he’s speaking in general, but shame consumes me from the inside. So many instances come to mind. Times when I was so damn sure I was doing the right thing, standing my ground, fighting the good fight. I was fanning the flames and got my friend burned—not even myself. There was probably a better way to go about each of those occasions, but hindsight is a jerk, because I still can’t see how I could’ve done better. And in turn, that pisses me off.
Because I realize now that I’ve been helpless all along, despite all my carefully constructed bravado.
“Luz—”
Whatever Max is about to say gets drowned out by a murmur. I wipe the evidence of tears from my cheeks just before both team coaches appear beside us.
“Everybody in the room,” Coach Young says.
When it’s clear that this is supposed to be an entire assembly, both teams scoot to opposite sides of the room. No one wants to sit at the table.
Somehow, I’m the first one who finds her voice. “How’s JT?”
“Back at her dorm room,” Coach Young responds, nodding more to herself than to us. “Transverse fracture. She’ll be out for about two months.”
Someone shouts, “No!”
But I sag as all the adrenaline leaves my body. That doesn’t sound career-ending or life-altering.
“Needless to say, this never should have happened,” the Bolts’ coach adds, sweeping an angry glance around the room. “It’s about time we stop this nonsense rivalry between our teams.”
“Oh yeah?” Chelsea snaps. “Would you be saying the same if it had been your star player?” And with that, she points straight at Max.
The thought of him getting even the slightest injury makes my stomach churn.
“Yes, it would be the same.” Coach Young’s eyes shoot daggers at us. “What do you think is gonna happen if we keep swiping at each other? Someone’s gonna get hurt again.”
Welp, sounds ominous.
She’s not wrong. Never in history has fighting ever led to peace. It escalates and escalates until it becomes obvious that everyone sustains losses that way until someone capitulates. Today could be that day.
But it’s not like we were entirely wrong either.
“Coach Young,” I call out, my voice surprisingly level even though I feel like crap. “I want to speak. Respectfully. And without being interrupted.”
She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Must you? We’re all on thin ice right now. Faculty caught wind of the incident, and there are calls for suspending the whole program. If what you want to say is going to make matters worse, then please refrain.”
That makes panicked murmurs ripple across the room. Suspend the program? What about our scholarships?
It’s an effective way to sweep other issues under the rug, though.
I steel my spine and say, “Yes, I still want to talk.”
“I agree with Coach Young,” the Bolts’ coach says, sighing. “Can we just table any further discussions? We have to?—”
“No.” Every eye in the room turns to Max, who crosses his arms. “I want to hear what Luz has to say.”
By the way some of my teammates tense, I suppose they take his interjection as a challenge. But I know better. He’s trying to back me up. My composure cracks a bit, and I give him a smile.
“Thank you.” I hold on to the back of a chair by the table, trying to arrange the words in my head in the best way possible. I’m not a master of oratory, though, so I end up just winging it. “As the captain of the Strikes, I will speak for them when I say that the biggest reason for this rift is a lack of clear communication and direction.
“From day one, no one knew where each team was supposed to go. In fact, most of us didn’t even know there was another team.”
